The first two days of Peggy’s return to Severndale were almost overwhelming for the girl.  True, Dr. Llewellyn met and welcomed her, and strove in his gentle, kindly manner to make the lonely home-coming a little less lonely.  It was all so different from what she had anticipated.  That he was there to welcome her at all was a mere chance.  He had planned a trip north and completed all his arrangements, when an old, and lifelong friend fell desperately ill.  Deferring his trip for the friend’s sake, Neil Stewart’s letter caught him before his departure, and after reading that his own pleasures and wishes were set aside.  Duty, which had ever been his watchword, held him at Severndale.

“When questioned by him—­circumspectly it is true—­Peggy’s answers conveyed no idea of pending trouble, nor did they alter his charitable view of the world or his fellow beings.

“Why, Filiola, I think it must be the very happiest solution of the situation here:  I am getting too old and prosy to make life interesting for you; your father will not be retired for several years yet, so there is little hope of your claiming his companionship; Mrs. Harold is a most devoted friend, but friendships in the service must so often be broken by the exigencies of the duties; she may be compelled to leave Annapolis at almost any time, and if she is, your friend Polly will be obliged to leave also.  Why, little one, it seems to me quite providential that you should have met your aunt in New London and that she will visit you here,” and good Dr. Llewellyn stroked with gentle touch the pretty brown hair resting against his shoulder, and looked smilingly down upon the troubled young face.

“Yes, Compadre, I know you think it will be quite for the best and I’m sure it would if—­if—­”

Peggy paused.  She hated to say anything uncomplimentary of the person whom the law said she must regard as her aunt.

“Are you prejudiced, my dear?”

There was mild reproof in Dr. Llewellyn’s tone.

“I am afraid I am.  You see I have been with the ‘Little Mother,’ and I do love her so, and Polly’s mother, too, and oh, Compadre, she is lovely.  Perfectly lovely.  If you could only see Polly with her.  There is something—­something in their attitude toward each other which makes me understand just what Mamma and I might have been to each other had she lived.  I never guessed what it meant until last winter, or felt it as I did up there in New London.  Daddy Neil is dear and precious but Mamma and I would have been just what Polly and her mother are to each other; I know it.”

“Will it not be possible for you and your aunt to grow very deeply attached to one another?  She, I understand, is quite alone in the world, and you should mean a great deal to each other.”

Peggy’s slight form shuddered ever so little in his circling arm.  That little shudder conveyed more to Dr. Llewellyn than a volume of words could have done.  He knew the sensitive, high-strung girl too well not to comprehend that there must be something in Mrs. Peyton Stewart’s personality which grated harshly upon her, and concluded that it would be wiser not to pursue the subject.